Page 19 of Rocking the Receiver
“Damn it!” I curse under my breath as I get up. Chris runs over, panting.
“Seriously, Lefevre?” Davis shouts, irritation evident in his voice.
I don’t bother answering the asshole. Instead, I pick myself up, with Chris clapping me on the shoulder, whispering his unwavering support. “Shake it off, man.”
By the third quarter, our desperation is palpable. We’re in the red zone, fourth and goal. The coach decides to go for it, putting his faith in me once more. I won’t fail him this time.
“We need this. You ready?” Davis asks, eyes locked on mine.
“Yeah!” I respond, heart pounding.
The snap is clean. I execute my route flawlessly. I see the ball flying in my direction and jump, arms outstretched. I catch it, feel the impact as I hit the ground, but then... the ball is jostled loose. The refs rule it incomplete. Turnover on downs, at least the other team has abysmal field position.
“Damn, that was close.” Chris extends his hand, helping me up.
In the final minutes of the game, we have one last chance to redeem ourselves, but truth be told, we need a miracle. I manage to separate from my defender, running a perfect slant route.
I catch it in stride and sprint towards the end zone. With a lone defender standing between me and a touchdown, I push myself to the limit. About to cross the goal line, I’m tackled from behind, and the ball is jarred loose once again. Fumble. Their top cornerback. How did I miss him? The other team recovers the ball, sealing our fate.
The whistle blows, echoing through the stadium. Throat constricted, I stand on the field, staring at the scoreboard. 24-21. We lost. Again. And a home game at that.
This can’t be happening. Not to our team.Myteam.
And here I thought they’d be thrilled to welcome a big shot like me. Talk about a rude awakening.
Damnit, I cannot be this fucking loser… Never have been… up until I started college, it seems. Fuck!
I came here to live my dream, not experience a nightmare.
My annoyance simmers under the surface as I drag myself off the field, helmet in hand, and join the line of players heading to the locker room, heads hung low.
My mind races with the could-haves and should-haves of the game. The roar of the crowd fading behind me. We gave it our all, but the team’s not clicking.
Like most of the previous games, this was a disaster. The opposing team’s defense was relentless, and our offensive line struggled to hold them back. Every time I managed to get open, the quarterback was already under pressure. From themurderous glares he’s shooting my way, I guess he’s blaming me.
I’m mostly mad at him because he’s a bad person rather than a bad player. His brainless comments tanked the whole team’s morale.
Skin ablaze, cold sweat runs down my spine from dread as I enter the locker room.I’m better than this guyis my mantra, whenever I’m in the same room as him and tempted to open my trap.
It’s heavy with disappointment, but big mouths strike again.
“Man, we suck,” someone mutters behind me. It’s Jones, a linebacker who’s always quick with a snide remark, and also Davis’s best friend.
“Yeah, no coordination at all,” adds Sheridan.
I grit my teeth but stay silent. There’s no point in arguing. Chris shakes his head beside me.
“Man, if only we had someone who could hold onto the ball,” mutters Davis to no one in particular.
“Yeah, if only you hadn’t overthrown,” grumbles another player.
“Cut it out,” Chris interjects, hoping to keep the peace. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”
Guess not…
As we peel off our gear, the locker room is filled with grunts, complaints, and whispers. Some of the guys are muttering under their breath, blaming each other, blaming themselves. Others are slumped on the benches, staring at the ground, stunned. I’mone of those, head in my hands. The loss feels like a weight on my shoulders.
“Don’t pay attention to their negativity,” Chris mutters. “We’re all pissed, but that kind of attitude doesn’t help.”
